Chapter 2

2

BEN

“We’d like you to get more involved in the community.”

I blink. “Uh. Okay.”

I’m sitting in Marc Miller’s office. He’s the general manager of the New Jersey Storm, the NHL team I play for. He and my coach have called me in for this meeting, and I’m confused.

“We have an opportunity that we think would be perfect for you,” he adds.

I swallow and try to tamp down the protest rising inside me. “Okay,” I say again. “What is it?”

“The hockey club has been getting more involved with an organization called Keeping Kids Safe,” Marc says.

I nod, although I’ve never heard of the organization.

“Their mission is to help kids affected by abuse. I was talking to Sue Milner, the executive director there, and we think you would be an excellent ambassador.”

Why me? But I keep the question to myself. This conversation is getting me flustered.

“Most of the guys have some cause they work for.” Marc names a few of my teammates and the charitable organizations they support.

“I donate a thousand dollars for every goal I score to the Fineberg Children’s Hospital,” I remind him and my coach.

“Yeah, we know that,” Coach says. “And that’s great. But we’re thinking a little more high-profile. It would be great for you to raise awareness of child abuse and draw attention to the group’s initiatives.”

That sounds… terrifying.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that I don’t want to help people, and a group that supports abused kids is fucking admirable. But I’d rather write a check than put myself out there and meet people. And I’d rather play hockey naked, fall on my bare ass, and get frostbite on my balls than do any kind of public speaking.

Again… why me?

“That sounds really… interesting…”

Coach leans forward, his gaze intent on me. “We decided to go with three alternate captains for the rest of the season.”

I nod, aware of this. Instead of naming one individual captain when our last one got traded just before Christmas, the team elected to have three alternate captains for the rest of the season. I’m one of them, and proud of it.

Normally a team has two or three alternate captains who support the team captain and fill in for him when needed. The captain is the only player who can discuss things with the refs during games, like questions about penalties and how the rules are interpreted. Officially, captains don’t have any real authority, but they’re the leader in the dressing room and sometimes take players’ concerns to management. They’re also the team’s representative to the public. Some captains organize social functions, too.

“We want to name one captain and two alternates next season,” Coach continues.

Again, I nod. That makes sense.

“You’re a good leader for the team,” he says. “You’re a quiet guy but you lead by example.” He pauses. “You’re not quiet on the ice.”

A half smile hooks up my lips. “True.”

“You take in everything and learn,” he continues. “You come to play, every day. Your work ethic is strong and that’s important. It’s something everybody seems to follow.”

These words of praise have me tugging at the collar of my shirt. I clear my throat. “Thanks.”

“With a little more presence in the community, we think that your leadership-by-example and blue-collar work ethic would allow you to take the next step in your career.” He pauses. “Captain.”

“Shit, really?” This time the words escape my mouth.

They both laugh.

“Yeah, really,” Marc says. “Would you be interested in meeting with Sue? To learn more about what they do and how they help kids?”

It’s sad that I actually hesitate.

Our team is playing like shit. We have issues on the ice and in the room. Our last captain, Danny Kosinski, kind of lost the plot. He was more into promoting himself than the team, and more into cliques than team building. I may be quiet, like Coach said, but I see everything that’s going on. I know exactly what we need to do to be better.

I could do it.

I just wish I didn’t have to do all that other shit outside of hockey to get the job. I hate small talk. I break out in hives in big crowds, and meeting new people makes my hands sweaty. I stay home more than I go out, and I’d rather hang out with a few of my buddies than go partying. Or even dating.

I can smile at the camera in a ceremonial puck drop and shake hands. I’ve faced the media even though I don’t like it. Surely I can organize a few team dinners. Go to management with team concerns? That’s a little unnerving. Be the face of a charitable organization? Ugh.

The message is clear, though – if I want to be captain, this is what I have to do.

I love this team. I love my teammates. I’d do anything for these guys and I want us to be winners so bad I can taste it. I played for a championship team once and I know that sweet, sweet taste of success – hoisting the Cup in front of all our fans. I want that again. I want it for this team.

The muscles in my neck and shoulders are hard as hockey pucks. I roll my shoulders, trying to relax. And I say, “Of course.”

Ah, fuck. What am I getting myself into?

“Perfect!” Marc beams. “We’ll set up a meeting with Sue and you two can talk.”

Sure, sure. “Sounds good.”

“We have faith in you, Ben.” Coach claps a hand on my shoulder. “Prove us right.”

I smile and shake hands with them before leaving the office.

Everyone else is gone by now; we had practice this morning and then after lunch in the players’ lounge, Coach called me into this meeting. I’m glad there’s nobody here to ask what’s going on, but I’d kind of like to bounce this off someone. Luckily, I’m staying with my buddy Smitty.

I just bought a condo in his building after the lease on my apartment expired. I found this place in the same building where Smitty and a couple of other guys live, but I have two months with nowhere to live so Smitty offered me his spare bedroom.

I head out to the parking area reserved for players. My new apartment building’s not far from the Hargrave Center in Hoboken, where we play games and practice, so it doesn’t take long to get there. When I walk in, Smitty’s sitting on the couch, talking on the phone. He waves at me and I walk to the fridge for a bottle of water.

“I guess she can stay here,” Smitty says unenthusiastically. “But maybe she and Julian should be trying to work things out.”

My ears perk up. Someone else is coming to stay here? And it sounds like Smitty’s sister, since her boyfriend is a guy named Julian. What’s going on?

“Yeah, yeah. I know. But she’ll have to sleep on the couch.”

Okay, whew. I was a little worried I was getting the boot. I guzzle cold water, leaning against the counter.

“I will. Okay. Bye, Mom.”

He ends the call and drops his phone on the coffee table. He shoves both hands into his shaggy, dark reddish hair and mutters, “Hell.”

“What’s wrong?”

He looks up with a resigned expression. “My sister’s coming to stay here for a while.” He rolls his eyes. “Sorry.”

I saunter over and sit in a chair. “That’s okay. It’s your place. You want me to move out?”

“No, no, it’s fine. You were here first.”

I snort. “Okay. But she’s your sister.”

“I know. And typical Mabel – apparently, she’s leaving her boyfriend and moving to New York. Or New Jersey, since she wants to stay here while she finds a new job and an apartment.”

“Whoa.”

I know Mabel. Smitty and I played hockey together as teenagers, back in Westville, Pennsylvania, so I know his family. His twin sister Mabel was a character. I knew she had a crush on me, but I avoided her because she scared the shit out of me, to be honest. She was so full of life, always surrounded by crowds of girls, and I was awkward and tight-lipped, since everything I said came out wrong. The day she accidentally pulled my pants down in front of the whole school was a clear sign that I should stay miles away from her.

“Yeah. Shit. I thought she was really happy with Julian. I don’t know what’s gotten into her. Mom’s not happy either.”

“Maybe she met someone else.”

He makes a face. “Eh… I don’t know. Mabel’s a little kooky, but she’s not a cheater.”

I nod.

“What a pain in the ass. And it has to happen when you’re here. Sorry, man.”

“Hey, no worries. If you want, I can totally find somewhere else to stay.” I could go to a nice anonymous hotel and hide away by myself for the next six weeks or so. I really hate not having my own space where I can retreat and be alone, but staying in a hotel sounds depressing.

“As long as you don’t mind sharing a bathroom and having her sleep on the couch, it’s fine. Hopefully it won’t be long.”

I can’t say I’m enthused about another person moving in, and it being Mabel isn’t great, mostly because of our history. But it’s been ten years since I saw her. She probably doesn’t even remember me.

“Crap, I forgot about your meeting with Coach and Mr. Miller,” Smitty says. “What was it about?”

I discharge a long breath. “They want me to get involved with some organization that helps abused kids.”

“Really? They told you that?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh. I mean, we’re all kind of expected to do community work, but I’ve never heard of them telling us exactly which charity to work for.”

“They said…” I’m not sure if I should even tell Smitty this. “Don’t say anything to anyone else about this, okay?”

His eyebrows lift. “Okay.”

“They said if I do this, I might be named captain.”

His jaw drops nearly to his lap. “Shut the fuck up.”

“No lie.” I rub my chin.

“That’s fantastic!”

“I’m kinda tripping about it.”

“Why? You’d be a great captain.”

I’m silent. There aren’t many people I’m comfortable enough with to spill my guts to, but Smitty is one of them. I’ve known him the longest of any of the guys on the team, even though we played on different teams for years. We were good buddies as teenagers, stayed friends as pro players, and hung out and trained together every summer when we went home. But still I hesitate. “I’m not cut out for a bunch of PR stuff. I’d be the face of this organization, and you know what that means. Making speeches, press conferences, ribbon-cutting bullshit.” I heave a sigh like I’m about to face a firing squad. “That’s not exactly my comfort zone.”

He nods slowly. “Yeah. But you can do it.”

“I’m not so sure.” I give him a wry smile.

“Of course you can. And you want to be captain.”

“Yeah. I do. I…” How big-headed is this going to sound? “I think I can help the team.” Okay, I tamed that down a bit too much. I need to sound more confident. “I know what the team needs. I saw the crap Danny was pulling. I know how he made the guys feel. I know it really put a damper on morale.”

“True.”

“I feel like I can turn things around. It’s just… the people stuff is hard for me, you know?” I rarely admit that out loud, but Smitty knows me and how much I hate being the center of attention. It’s like introversion is a character defect or something. There’ve definitely been times I’ve felt ashamed of it. Obviously, people know I’m kind of reserved and I don’t say much, but admitting how hard and exhausting it is for me to do normal people shit is embarrassing.

“I know.” He makes a duck-lips face. “But I think you can do it.”

“Yeah?”

“Hell, yeah. You’re a great player. You work your ass off. You show us how to do it.”

Something heats behind my breastbone. “Thanks.” His confidence in me makes me want to do it even more. “But the outside stuff… ugh. I don’t wanna.”

He laughs. “It won’t be so bad.”

“Easy for you to say.” Smitty may not be a wild child like his twin sister, but he’s friendly and sociable and has no trouble finding women. Unlike me. I mean, I have no trouble finding them either. For one night. More than that, though, and they bail.

“Yeah, I know, but seriously, you got this. You have to do this. You have to take this opportunity.”

I nod slowly. “I know.”

“Okay, that’s settled. Let’s go out to celebrate tonight.”

“We can’t tell anyone else.”

“I know, I know. But I’m sure Dilly and Crusher are in for tacos and tequila.”

Our teammates: Dillon Landry and Nash Wilson. We hockey players gotta have our nicknames. Smitty is actually Marek Smits and I’m Benny to my teammates.

Smitty grabs his phone and starts texting. “They don’t need a reason for tequila.”

“True that.” I grin.

When my buddies ask me if I got in trouble when I got called to Coach’s office, my mind goes blank. I can’t think of anything to bullshit them with, and I can’t tell them the truth. I stare vacantly at them. Then Smitty bails me out by saying, “They talked about possible line changes.”

They frown at Smitty.

“What?” Crusher says. “Why was Mr. Miller there?”

“I don’t know,” I manage to say with a shrug. We’ve got guacamole and chips in front of us along with flights of tequilas. I pick up my glass and sip my Extra Anejo.

“What’s your most embarrassing sex story?” Smitty asks all of us.

Jesus. Way to change the subject. He couldn’t talk about the weather?

“It has to be the time a woman was trying to deep throat me and threw up on me.” Crusher picks up a chip. “That was bad.”

We all groan in sympathy.

“Was she drunk or just disgusted?” Dilly asks with an evil smirk.

“Asshole,” Crusher says. “She was wasted.”

“Mine are all about whiskey dick,” Dilly says sadly. “It doesn’t matter how hot she is, sometimes the big boy just won’t cooperate.”

We all make sympathetic noises.

“Big boy.” Crusher lifts an eyebrow.

“Let’s not go there,” Smitty says. “How about you, Benny? Got an embarrassing sex story?”

I think. “I do not,” I finally say. Like I’m going to tell them about the first time I had sex. I told the girl I loved her and then never saw her again. I know better than that now. My sexcapades have not been plentiful, but they’ve been uneventful in terms of embarrassment, thank God.

“Okay, this one’s good,” Smitty says. “I was going out with this girl in Binghamton when I played for the farm team. She kept getting itchy… down there. We weren’t using condoms. We were afraid she was allergic to my semen. So she went to her doctor and he told her to tell me to stop eating peanuts. She had a peanut allergy.”

“Shut up.” Crusher stares at him.

“Truth.” Smitty holds up a hand, grinning. “When I stopped eating peanuts, the problem was fixed.”

“Or you could have used condoms,” I say.

He gives me a look. “I’d rather give up peanuts.”

The guys all laugh and I grin.

“Okay, this didn’t happen to me,” Crusher says. “But a guy I knew got bit on the schlong, she was going down on him and when he came, she accidentally bit down, hard. He was spurting blood and had to be rushed to the hospital.”

“Yeah, there’s a big artery there,” Smitty says. “Wow.”

“Okay, that’s embarrassing,” Dilly says. “At least I was the only one who knew about Carrie vomiting on me.”

“Until now,” I point out, scooping guacamole with a chip.

“He passed out and came to in the ambulance with a tourniquet on his dick. That’s embarrassing.”

“Oh, hell yeah.” Dilly nods.

“He could never have another blow job. He had blow job PTSD.”

“That sucks. I love blow jobs,” Smitty says.

We all grunt our agreement.

The waitress arrives with our meals, ending our bizarre conversation. I’m used to that with these guys.

We talk hockey during dinner, although we try not to talk shop all the time. Trying to eat light, I ordered a pan-seared chicken breast with a sauce made of pumpkin seeds and tomatoes. I’m all about healthy eating during the season. The chips and tequila are a treat. You have to treat yourself once in a while, and I did get sort of good news today.

I could be the next team captain. It still has me tripping.

After dinner, we walk home from the restaurant along the Hudson River walkway. The view of Manhattan across the river is stunning, all glittering skyscrapers reflecting on the water, lights turning the clouds above into a moody oil painting. A frigid wind blows off the river and a few icy flakes of snow pelt us as we near home. It’s a really nice building with tons of amenities, like a gym and valet parking, even a coffee station. I also like that the apartments have fireplaces, and I can’t wait to stretch out in front of it with the book I’m reading.

The elevator stops on fifteen to let out Crusher and Dilly, who room together, then continues to seventeen where Smitty’s condo is. He walks in ahead of me and stops short.

Music blasts from speakers. Music we did not leave on when we left for dinner. We walk in to see a woman dancing in the middle of the living room, throwing her long hair around, who then screams along to the music, “Who’s afraid of little old me!”

We both freeze in place, staring.

“Aaaaah! You’re home!” she cries as she spots us, then throws herself into Smitty’s arms. “Hiiiiii!”

It’s Mabel.

“Hey. I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow.” He hugs her back. He rags on Mabel, but he really loves her and they’re pretty tight.

“I know, I thought so too, but I was all packed and…” Her voice hitches, barely perceptibly. “And I wanted to come!”

I take note of the tightness at the corners of her eyes and the fake brightness of her smile.

She steps back and taps her phone, ending Taylor’s song. Silence falls around us. When she looks up, her gaze lands on me over Smitty’s shoulder. “Oh. Ben.” She blinks eyelashes long enough to give off a breeze, her tone noticeably cooling. “Hi.”

She seems surprised to see me. I thought Smitty told his family I was staying with him temporarily.

I feel the tops of my ears burning and I shove my hands into the pockets of my jacket. I resist the urge to disappear into my room. “Hi, Mabel.” Say something. Some kind of small talk. Anything. Fuck. I got nothin’.

As usual, awkward silence fills the void.